His free hand crept around her waist and pulled her against his rock-solid chest, causing her to gasp at the explosion of fire that coursed through her veins at the contact with his solid chest.
“Call it Providence.” He grinned wolfishly.
That irritating brain of hers reared its disapproving head.
This was positively scandalous behaviour, she knew.
Women were completely ruined by the type of actions in which she was currently engaged.
And yet, as he pressed her closer, as his head descended slowly, so slowly toward hers, the sensible voice was drowned in a tidal wave of unstoppable need.
Finally, after an age, Alex’s lips settled on hers, and she happily and readily got swept away.
CHAPTER SIX
THE SECOND ALEX felt Lydia’s capitulation, he knew that he was in very real danger of losing his heart to this woman.
He was sure that she was inexperienced, as most single ladies of quality were, but her natural sensuality was very nearly killing him.
Dropping both hands to encircle her waist and pull her closer still, he traced her bottom lip with his tongue, and when she gasped at the sensation, he took full advantage, plundering her mouth in a kiss that affected him more than he would have thought possible.
The feel of Lydia’s soft body pressed against his was enough to drive reason from his mind, and Alex had to struggle to keep hold of his control, rather than let pure instinct take over.
The kiss went on and on, and he felt, with no small amount of masculine satisfaction, Lydia sag against him, her arms lifting to grasp his lapels.
This woman would be his undoing.
An image flashed in his mind: Lydia standing beside him at Court, bedecked in royal jewels, a sparkling ring adorning her hand.
The thought brought him up short.
Where the hell did that come from?
He barely knew her. And though this attraction was stronger than any he’d ever felt before, it was hardly enough to warrant a proposal!
Besides, she didn’t even know about the Royal Court.
Because she didn’t know him.
The surge of guilt that rocked Alex then was enough to make him break their kiss.
He had to tell her.
He couldn’t keep lying to her. Taking liberties such as these while keeping such a secret from her.
It wouldn’t be so bad, in any case.
He was a prince, for God’s sake. Not a criminal.
What woman didn’t want a prince?
Lydia opened eyes glazed with passion, and the impact of them slammed into his gut.
God, she was beautiful.
“I have a confession,” he said, his voice hoarse with passion.
Lydia looked mesmerised by what had just happened. She was gazing up at him with such happiness, such… trust.
His guilt was like a live thing, slithering along his nerves like a serpent.
He had to tell her. But how could he when she looked like that?
How could he risk her displeasure, and therefore, risk never getting to hold her like this again?
Alex’s father had always thought him a selfish bastard.
As it turned out, his father had been right.
Because he was about to put his own wants and needs above being honest.
“What is it?” she prompted when he still had not spoken.
Pushing aside any guilt or misgivings trying to make themselves known, Alex smiled down at her.
“I lied about the holly,” he whispered.
Lydia’s smile was dazzling.
“Let’s just pretend it’s mistletoe,” she whispered back.
And in that moment, Alex fell a little bit in love with her.
LYDIA COULD BARELY sit still as her long-suffering maid suffered with her chestnut tresses.
They were unruly at the best of times, but today it seemed her hair was as distracted as the rest of her, for it simply wouldn’t behave.
After enough pins to cause a nationwide shortage, the abigail stepped back in triumph.
“Done,” she declared with a sigh. “And you look even more beautiful than last night, miss.”
“Thank you, Katie.” Lydia smiled tightly.
Her nerves were so fraught that she could barely form a sentence, let alone converse properly.
After she’d left Alex, and honestly, there was no point in calling him anything more formal at this stage, she’d hidden herself away in her bedchamber or sitting with Huntsforth for the afternoon.
She was delighted to see her uncle looking a little better, awake and more alert than ever.
Lydia had taken a light luncheon in her room, feeling completely overwhelmed by her reaction to Alex and what this meant for her.
The problem was that she’d always been a terrible romantic, so she fully believed in love at first sight. And she fully believed that she could easily love him, just like one of the characters in the novels she so enjoyed reading.
Of course, in her novels there was invariably some sort of tragic event like an abduction or gruesome death to contend with, along with the love. That part she could happily avoid.
But the failing in love with a tall, dark, mysterious stranger would be no hardship.
Katie handed over Lydia’s fan, prompting her into movement.
Mama was throwing a dinner party this evening. Unfortunately, Huntsforth wouldn’t be able to attend, but there was hope that with his health on the mend, he would improve enough to join at least some of the festivities.
As it was, Alex had agreed to assist Mama in hosting the event.
Lydia’s gown was a confection of blue organza, almost the exact shade of her eyes.
It highlighted the red in her hair and made her eyes bluer.
Mama had insisted on having it made, and now Lydia was grateful that she had.
The party tonight would be fairly small, in deference to Huntsforth’s health.
The Twelfth Night Ball in a week’s time would be much grander in scale, and Lydia found herself desperate for it to arrive now.
She had visions of dancing the night away in Alex’s arms… of walking with him in the moonlight… of his arms wrapping around her, pulling her to him…
“Miss?”
Katie’s voice interrupted Lydia’s scandalous reverie, and she felt her cheeks heat.
“Your gloves, miss.” Katie held the satin garments out to her, and Lydia took them, determinedly ignoring the sly smile on her maid’s face.
A glance at the ormolu clock on the mantle told her that she was in danger of being late, so with one last deep, fortifying breath, she went down to face the man who had kissed her senseless and turned her world upside down in a matter of days.
ALEX PACED THE floor of the foyer, studiously ignoring his growing discomfort.
After he’d left Lydia that morning, he’d gone straight to see Huntsforth.
If he could make his peace with the man, if he could explain what had really happened, then he could explain the same thing to Lydia, and this lie that had started out so innocuous would no longer feel like it was choking him.
When he’d reached Huntsforth’s room, however, the surgeon had been in with him, and apparently, the examination had worn the man out, for he remained fast asleep for the duration of Alex’s visit.
It had been strangely emotional, sitting by the bedside of a man whom Alex didn’t know. He had memories of loving his aunt and uncle, of course, but how much of that was memory and how much was assumption, he couldn’t say for sure.
So, he had sat in the silence, trying to work out his jumbled thoughts about Huntsforth, about his inheritance, about the woman whose kiss had just blown him away.
After a while, with his thoughts no more organised and his conscience no clearer, Alex left to ready himself for tonight.
He had told Lady Charring he would be happy to host her party with her, and the woman was so bloody nice and grateful about it that it increased his guilt tenfold.
A sound on the stairs caught his attention, and he spun around in anticipation, but it was Harriet who arrived, looking regal as ever in gold damask silk.
“Ah, sister, you look well this evening,” he said with a smile.
“Thank you,” Harriet answered with a smile of her own, but as soon as she reached his side, her expression turned serious.
“Alex, I need to speak with you,” she said, her tone low and urgent.
And he knew, before she even spoke, what it was about.
“Harriet, listen—”
“No, you listen,” she hissed, interrupting him. “These are good people, Alex. They have shown us nothing but kindness. And lying to them is wrong.”
Alex sighed, muttering an oath under his breath.
Harriet was merely giving voice to his own thoughts.
“Haven’t you enjoyed the freedom of not being royal?” he asked, desperate to assuage his guilt in some small way. “Hasn’t it been nice to just be Harriet and not Her Highness?”
He watched her reaction closely and was pleased to see a loosening in her jaw and resignation in her eyes.
“Yes, it has been. Truly.”
Before he could congratulate himself, however, she continued.
“But it still isn’t right. And frankly, it is ridiculous. I don’t know why I ever agreed to it. You could easily explain the circumstances of your inheritance to Lydia. Explain how none of this was your fault.”
“Wasn’t it?” he asked dully.
Harriet’s frown deepened.
“Of course it wasn’t,” she said firmly. “You didn’t know, Alex.”
Alex ran a hand agitatedly through his hair.
He didn’t know what had gotten into him.
Well, that wasn’t true. He knew what, or rather whom, had affected him so.
Being around Lydia, witnessing her selflessness, her sensitivity to her mother, her worry for Huntsforth, traipsing through the snow to collect holly in the hopes of making the man’s Christmas as good as possible. It all highlighted just how selfish and self-absorbed Alex had been.
The second son of a royal family, he’d never been expected to do anything other than show up at a few Society events and dance attendance on the wives of important people.
His life had been a stream of nothingness. He hadn’t worked for anything, hadn’t done any good.
And here had been this man, whom he could have picked up a quill and sent an occasional letter to, and he’d forgotten him. Forgotten his beloved aunt.
He hadn’t known about the inheritance, no. But what good had he done? In any part of his life?
He knew enough about Lydia Charring now to know she would despise the man Alex was, a spoilt, lazy, privileged prince with too much time and money on his hands.
Harriet was awaiting an answer, and she looked worried, which compounded his guilt further still.
“No, I didn’t know,” he said now, mustering a smile. “And I will confess all. I promise. Just — allow me to await the right time. It would be grossly unfair of us to ruin the party the ladies have worked so hard on, would it not?”
Harriet, as he knew she would, capitulated immediately, hating the idea of upsetting the Charrings, of whom she had grown extremely fond.
Another noise sounded on the staircase, and Alex looked up, only to have his heart stop dead in his chest.
Lydia was gliding down the staircase, a breathtaking smile on her face.
Had anyone ever looked so beautiful?
He felt, rather than saw, Harriet slip discreetly away.
He couldn’t have torn his eyes from the vision walking toward him if his life depended on it.
“Good evening, Alex.” Lydia smiled shyly.
He barely trusted himself to speak.
Lydia’s smile dimmed a little in the face of his silence.
“You’re enchanting,” he managed to croak.
Her smile returned.
Wordlessly, he held out his arm, and she took it immediately, the small palm at his elbow causing a jolt to shoot through him.
Alex decided there and then that he would allow himself to enjoy the evening without divulging his secret identity.
He would tell her.
But something about this evening felt almost magical, and he didn’t want to break the spell. Not just yet.
CHAPTER SEVEN
LYDIA’S HEART THUMPED painfully loudly as she heard Alex’s laugh from across the room.
She hadn’t been seated with him at dinner, to her disappointment.
And from the scowls he had sent to her side of the table for the duration of the meal, he wasn’t exactly pleased about it either.
She had been seated next to Sir Thomas, a young acquaintance of her father’s and someone who bored her to tears each time she was unfortunate enough to have him inflicted on her.
Lydia had spent the majority of the evening hiding her yawns and watching Alex as he charmed every guest at the table.
He smiled easily, he laughed freely, and he regaled them all with exciting tales from his homeland.
She could practically see every woman at the table fall in love with him, and she had the mad idea to jump up and claim him.
She didn’t, of course. But it was tempting.
The ladies had then retired to the drawing room where she’d endured carol after carol sung in voices even worse than her own, if that were possible.
The only reprieve had been when Harriet Farago had played and sung beautifully.
When the gentlemen had returned, someone suggested they all play cards, and Lydia’s heart leapt at the chance to sit next to Alex.
Unfortunately, however, Sir Thomas claimed her as a partner, and now she had to sit at this table, not even pretending to concentrate, while Alex sat on the other side of the room, surrounded by silly little chits desperate for his attention.
An exclamation of disappointment brought her attention back to her group, and she saw that she and Sir Thomas had lost yet another hand.
“My apologies, Sir Thomas. I’m afraid that my concentration is not what it should be this evening. Perhaps the room is a little too warm.” She offered an apologetic smile.
“That’s quite all right, Miss Charring. Perhaps a moment’s fresh air on the balcony would do you some good?”
Lydia was alarmed to see a meaningful look adorn his features as he spoke.
“An excellent idea,” she agreed, trying to think of an excuse not to have him accompany her, as he was obviously hinting to do.
“Miss Charring, might I escort you?” a voice behind her asked smoothly.
She whipped her head around at the sound of Alex’s voice.
He was standing at her chair, glaring at Sir Thomas.
Lydia had to force herself to stand slowly and not jump up into his arms.
“Thank you, Mr. Farago. You are very kind.”
“But — but—” Sir Thomas stuttered into silence as Alex threw him a dark look.
Holding out his arm to Lydia, he didn’t speak, merely raised an enquiring brow.
Lydia bit her lip to stop from grinning in response, and she walked smoothly beside him, trying to ignore the mounting excitement within her.
They stepped onto the balcony, and a blast of icy air hit her, but before she could even comment on it, Alex grabbed her waist and pulled her round so her back was pressed against the wall of the house, away from the eyes of the people inside.
“Alex, what—”
Her question was silenced as his lips crashed onto her own, and a surge of heat so intense it was almost scalding swept through her.
Lydia lifted her hands to tangle in his jet-black hair and pulled his head even closer to her own.
The kiss was intense. A raging fire that consumed them both.
It should have frightened the wits out of
her, but all she felt was desire and something that felt very much like what her novels described as love, this clawing, all-consuming, almost painful feeling that swamped her.
Alex broke the kiss and leaned back, his breathing as laboured as her own.
“Are you cold?” he asked gruffly, his eyes gleaming in the moonlight.
“I don’t think I’ll ever be cold again,” she exclaimed breathlessly, earning herself a smugly satisfied grin. “We have to return,” she added, somewhat frantically.
If they didn’t go back inside now, she was afraid she would do something truly scandalous. And though she was too innocent to know what that something would be, she had no qualms taking a shot at it.
“Spend the day with me tomorrow,” Alex said.
“B-but there are things to do, the ball to organise and—”
“That can wait,” he interrupted. “Please.”
Well, how could she possibly refuse now? Not that she wanted to.
“All right.” She smiled, earning herself another quick, but no less enthralling kiss.
They returned to the drawing room, and Lydia hoped desperately that she didn’t look as flustered as she felt.
She spent the rest of the evening keeping some much-needed distance from Alex and the things he did to her.
Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.
CHAPTER EIGHT
ALEX BREATHED IN the fresh, crisp air.
In Aldonia, the snow would be so deep at this time of year that it would be nigh on impossible to travel anywhere, let alone go riding.
But although the snow had fallen here in the night, it wasn’t the flurry he was used to, and so he could enjoy the morning with the woman by his side.
Lydia was an excellent horsewoman, as he’d suspected she would be.
He’d gotten to know her over these past couple of weeks, and she didn’t seem the type who would be bad at anything she set her mind to.
They’d spent every morning together, whether out riding or preparing for tonight’s Twelfth Night Ball.
Nobody from home would have believed him if he’d told them that he, Prince Alexander Philip Farago Wesslebach, had been scurrying about hanging garlands and making floral arrangements.
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